


Dean Winchester's Perfect Apple Pie

by muzzleofbees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, M/M, One-Shot, fic prompt, human cas, perfect apple pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzzleofbees/pseuds/muzzleofbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Cas tries to bake an apple pie but doesn't know how. Dean comes to the rescue. </p><p>Set post S8. <br/>With a special hat tip to Alton Brown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester's Perfect Apple Pie

Cas knew how to use Sam’s laptop to research important questions, and so he studied several videos and read various articles about how to make a pie. It did not seem difficult. Cas could follow orders, so there was no reason he couldn’t follow such plain instructions, and he had the kitchen to himself for an entire day while Sam and Dean hunted down a nest of vampires, so there was time to do it more than once if he got it wrong. 

He gathered all of his ingredients, encouraged by the fact that there seemed to be so few elements involved. Butter, flour, sugar, salt, a dozen fresh apples, and a lemon. He was less encouraged the second time he assembled the ingredients, after the disaster that was his first attempt. By his third trip to the grocery store, he was feeling more than discouraged. The first crust had been too thin and burnt all the way through. The second crust had been uneven--black in some places and raw in others, and no matter how long he kept it in the oven, the apples simply would not cook through. They were raw while the top crust was smoking, and Cas had no choice but to dispose of the whole mess. 

The less said about the third try, the better. 

He was still in the midst of the black-smoke-disaster when Sam and Dean returned. 

“What’s going on in here?” 

Cas spun around, holding the smoking pie dish with a guilty smile. “I’m...I’m sorry, Dean. I wanted to make you a pie.” 

“Not going so well?” 

“I’m afraid it’s going rather poorly. I don’t understand. The videos were so clear. It made it look easy.” 

“There’s nothing easy about making a pie, Cas. Not if you’re going to do it right.” 

“I want to do it right,” Cas said quickly. Lately, it felt like he couldn’t do anything right in his newly human body. “Will you show me?” 

Dean was already rolling up his sleeves. “Your first problem is that it’s hot in here.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Pies need to start cold.” He opened the fridge and cleared space for the mixing bowl, the crust cutter, and the butter. “What are you using for liquid?” 

“Water.” 

Dean frowned and shook his head, like he’d never heard of anything so troubling. “Sprite works best, but Sam’s got some lemon mineral water back here....aha! This will do for now. I like to add a little touch of milk, too, and some egg whites.” Dean worked as he explained, whisking the fluids together in a glass measuring cup before putting in the fridge. 

“While that cools, we work on the apples. Peel those.” 

Cas wordlessly obeyed, picking up a knife in his right hand and an apple in the left. He took a chunk of apple with the first layer of skin--Dean noticed from the corner of his eye and shook his head. “Be careful. You don’t want to waste any of the good part, right? Here, do it like this.” 

Dean took the knife and apple from him and peeled away a perfectly even ribbon of apple, turning it in his hand again and again, until it was completely stripped in a single, red ribbon. “Like that. Got it?” 

Cas nodded, took the knife back, and started on the second apple. This effort was much better, and by the third apple, he was almost as good as Dean. As he peeled them, Dean ran them under cold water and positioned them on a cutting board. He set about with a long, sharp knife, quickly slicing the apple into twelve, perfect, evenly sized pieces. 

“They’ll cook evenly,” Cas observed. 

“Yes, they will,” Dean agreed, layering the slices in the colander he usually used to drain spaghetti. They had all the apples peeled and sliced in no time, Dean carefully layering them in the colander, then placing the colander over a bowl and sticking that in the fridge, too. 

“So you looked on the Internet for instructions?” 

“Yes, though it was often confusing. There appears to be no one way to do it.”

“Yeah, it’s more of an art than a science, but you’ll be okay as long as you remember a few things.” 

“Like pies need to start cold,” Cas said. 

“Exactly.” 

Dean took the bowl out of the freezer and sliced two sticks of butter in thin, even slices. He measured a cup of flour into bowl and then dropped a few pieces of butter in the center, working it into the flour with his pastry cutter. 

“Grab the liquid and give it a stir. Good. Now, come over here and sprinkle a little in. Yeah, just like that. We don’t want to add too much at once. We just want it get sticky.” 

Cas was careful to add only a few drops at a time while Dean methodically worked the cold butter into the flour, one slice at a time. Cas had not been so careful about the issue, merely throwing all the ingredients into a bowl and mashing them together until they started to blend and eventually formed a ball he could flatten into a disc. Dean was careful though, pausing often to check the firmness and consistency. Sometimes he sprinkled in a little flour, and sometimes he gestured to Cas to add a bit more of the liquid. 

When the measuring cup was empty, Dean paused to wash his hands with cold water, and then abandoned the pastry cutter for his fingers. 

“Your hands are the best tools you have in the kitchen. Sometimes you gotta get right in there.” He formed the dough into a single mass and then split it into equal balls, smoothing them and then flattening them into discs. 

“Wax paper.” 

Cas didn’t know where or what wax paper was, but he searched through the kitchen until he found a long, thin blue and red box. He ripped off two large squares and handed them to Dean, who wrapped them around each piece of dough, securing them with rubberbands he produced from the drawer near the fridge. 

“Now we let them chill for a bit before we roll it out.” The dough went into the fridge, and the apples came out. Dean lifted the colander to reveal a decent amount of juice in the bottom of the bowl. 

“That, right there, is gold.” 

“What are you going to do with it?” 

“You’ll see.” 

He sprinkled sugar and cinnamon over the apples and returned it all to the fridge. 

“It takes a bit of time to do it right.” 

“How was your hunt? Did it go well?” Cas kept his voice neutral. Polite, even. 

“Don’t get like that.” 

“I’m not getting like anything.” 

“Yes, you are. You’re upset because you didn’t get to go to the nest with us. I told you, it’s too dangerous.” 

“I’m not a child, Dean.” 

“Yeah, and you’re not an angel anymore, either. You don’t know how strong you are. You don’t know what your limits are.” 

“How will I ever find out if you never let me work cases with you?” 

“You want to go go out on a case? Fine. Next time something comes across my desk, you’ll be the first to know.” 

Cas hadn’t expected the fight to end that easily. Dean had been adamant ever since Cas found his way back to the bunker that he was not going to go on any cases, that he was not to hunt any vampires or demons or anything else that might snap his human neck off his human shoulders. That was why Cas had been reduced to trying his hand at baking a pie, and he hadn’t even been able to do that right. How long would Dean let him stay if he didn’t make himself of some use? He felt like he was doing nothing but wasting air with each breath. 

“But don’t blame me when you get yourself killed,” Dean added. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.” 

Cas squared his shoulders and lifted his chin a little. “I’ve been a warrior for a millenium. I don’t need you to keep me safe.” 

“But you did need me to show you how to make a pie.” Dean gave Cas’s shoulder a friendly slap. “That’s okay. Nobody knows what they’re doing their first time.” 

This clearly was not Dean’s first time, though Cas had no recollection of ever seeing the man make a pie before. When did he develop these techniques? How long had he been perfecting the combination of ingredients and technique? He whistled under his breath while he worked, searching through the cabinets until he found the deep glass pie dish. Cas had bought some disposable pie tins at the store, and Dean tossed them into the garbage without a second glance. 

“How long does the dough need to chill?” 

“It should be done now.” 

He sprinkled flour over the counter and scrubbed the remnants of earlier dough from the rolling pin, then retrieved the dough from the fridge. Cas watched with silent fascination as Dean rolled the dough out, his arms flexing with each gesture. He worked quickly, taking only a handful of strokes to flatten the pastry. He paused every once in awhile to sprinkle flour over the dough, then resumed the work of flattening into a perfect circle. 

He carefully folded the dough into quarters and set it in the bottom of the pie dish, where he unfolded it and pressed it against the high sides of the dish. This was going to make a very thick slice of pie. He opened the drawer and pulled out a little porcelain figurine of a black bird, it’s head tilted back, it’s beak open. He set it in the middle of the dough. 

“Get the apples. Layer them in around the bird.” 

“I don’t understand. Is this bird crucial to the pie?” 

“Yes. Apples release steam when they cook. If you don’t make sure the pie is vented, it explodes. Then nobody gets to eat delicious pie and the whole night is ruined.” 

Cas worked with narrow-eyed concentration, diligently stacking the apple slices higher and higher around the bird. By the time he emptied the colander of apples, Dean had finished rolling out the top crust. He delicately placed it over the top, taking a knife to slice the excess away from the pan, pressing the dough into the crimps of the deep pie dish. 

“Here. Try this.” He held up a piece of dough, and since Cas’s fingers were sticky with sugar and apple juice, he merely opened his mouth. Dean popped the dough into his mouth and smiled as Cas’s eyes widened. The dough tasted vaguely sweet from the mineral water, and buttery, and perfect. 

“Not bad, huh?” 

Cas shook his head. It wasn’t bad at all. 

“There’s still one more thing, then we’ll pop it in the oven.” 

Dean poured the apple juice from the bottom of the bowl into a small saucepan and placed it on a burner. 

“This will just take a few minutes to reduce.” 

“Reduce?” 

“Yep. We’re going to simmer it until the water evaporates and there’s nothing left but a glaze for the top of the crust.” He kept stirring with a wooden spoon, gesturing for Cas to come closer to watch the juice thicken into a syrup. It smelled sweet, good, but not as good as Dean, who still smelled of sweat and the hunt. Cas took a deep breath, wishing he could bury his nose in Dean’s hair. 

“Okay, see how thick it is now? We gotta act fast. We don’t want to it to overcook.” He used the back of the spoon to spread the glaze over the top of the pie. “Now we put it in the oven for 45 minutes. And while that cooks, I’m going to shower and wash the vampire guts off.” 

“Let me help you,” Cas blurted. 

Dean arched his brow. “Help me shower, Cas?” 

“Yes. I can...I can wash your back.” 

“You can wash my back,” Dean repeated slowly. Cas heard it as an agreement and took an eager step towards him. “Um...Cas...” 

“I just want to help you, Dean.” 

Dean smiled. “You did help me. Clean up the kitchen and share a slice of pie with me, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Dean’s smile softened slightly. “Then it’s a date. Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I won’t Dean.” His sense of satisfaction grew with the scent of the baking pie, and as he scrubbed the flour from the counter, he congratulated himself on a job well done. 

#

Sam was drawn into the kitchen by the scent of apple pie. Not just any apple pie. Dean’s special deep-dish apple pie that he was so ridiculously proud of, and though Sam would never, ever admit it, Dean had reason to be proud. That was some good fucking pie, and as soon as he caught a whiff of it, he turned into a cartoon character, following his nose, practically floating off the floor. 

He stopped short at the kitchen door, his stomach growling, his nostrils quivering, and his mind reeling from the sight in front of him. Dean and Cas were both at the table--not so unusual--but they were sitting right next to each other. Dean’s hair was still damp from the shower, and Cas was dusted in white flour, and they were practically on top of each other.

And they were sharing a piece of pie. 

One single piece of Dean’s special deep dish apple pie on the plate between them. With one fork. 

“Hey, Sammy, want a piece of pie?” 

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I didn’t know you were going to make a pie.” 

“Cas got it started for me.” He kicked the chair out from beneath the table. “Have a seat.” 

Cas smiled as Dean dished a slice of pie onto the second, unused plate beside the dish. The crust was perfect. The crust was always perfect. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean missed his calling as a pastry chef. He would have teased his brother about it, but then the pie might have disappeared from his life, and Sam wasn’t willing to risk it. 

He expected Dean to grab another plate, but he resumed sharing with Cas like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fortunately, they stopped short of feeding each other. But just barely. 

“How is it?” Dean asked with an eager smile. 

Sam took a bite. The crust was flakey and buttery, the apples were sweet and tender, and everything came together perfectly. The only thing missing was a scoop of vanilla ice cream. 

“Not bad,” Dean scoffed. “It’s perfect. Cas did a good job, didn’t he?” 

Cas smiled shyly. “Dean did most of the work.” 

“Cas was a critical part of the operation,” Dean cut in, and then he actually did it. He actually fed Cas a bite of pie. Cas bit the apple from the fork and gave Dean a closed-mouth grin and Sam suddenly felt like the world’s biggest third wheel. 

“Well, thanks for the pie, but I was in the middle of some...work.” 

“Work? You work too much. A little break won’t kill you.” 

Sam stood, ignoring his brother’s protest. He did not want to see Dean feed Cas again, and he especially didn’t want to witness Cas returning the gesture. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that Dean never, ever shared his pie. He didn’t want an explanation, he just wanted to get the hell out of there. 

“I want to finish a few things up before I go to bed.” 

“We’ll be in in a bit to help,” Dean said. 

“No, that’s fine. You should...enjoy your pie.” He looked pointedly at the weird, single slice. Cas and Dean both grinned at him. It was creepy. He was thoroughly creeped out. No pie was worth this. Still, he paused long enough to scoop another slice onto his plate before ducking out. He wished Dean made this pie every day and he wasn’t even a fan of pies. When it came down to it, he definitely preferred cake, if he was going to anything sweet. 

The last thing he heard as he left the kitchen was Cas’s soft chuckle and Dean’s answering murmur. He risked one more quick glance over his shoulder--their smiling mouths were only a few inches apart and the pie was forgotten and Sam absolutely did not want to know. He fled to the relative safety of his bedroom, hoping the weirdness wouldn’t follow him. But he couldn’t get that final image out of his mind--couldn’t forget how happy his brother looked in that moment.


End file.
